


Another Man's Wife

by Anonymous



Series: AMW [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Awkwardness, Cheating, Discussion of Abortion, F/F, F/M, Female Jason Grace - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, For a Friend, Genderbending, Healthy Female Friendships, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Cheating, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loss of Virginity, Marriage of Convenience, Miscarriages (mentioned), Nobility, OOC, OOC Octavian, OOC character, One-Sided Attraction, Please Don't Hate Me, Political Alliances, Unrequited Love, Wedding Night, angst angst angst, because we need more of those, following of tradition, gender bent characters, lowkey hate sex, this plot bunny ran away from me, to the sensible people reading this-forgive me, trainwreck marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A marriage that guarantees not only her champion's future but also her claim to a birthright: Juno would be insane to refuse.It's to no one's surprise that both bride and groom are reluctant about this arrangement, but if there's anything the noble houses are good at, it's backstabbing each other until they get their way. A match like this is historic for their house, and with the world looking on the young couple to have an heir, the race against the clock starts now.Remember, it isn't cheating if your husband did it first.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Calypso/Leo Valdez, Hazel Levesque/Frank Zhang, Jason Grace/Octavian, Jason Grace/Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace
Series: AMW [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990843
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Here Comes the Bride

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my dear friend, who put up with my latest binge of Henry VIII's life, only to help me come up with a story I didn't know I needed.

_Do you think I’m toying with you? Name your bride price Juno, that champion of yours, if_ **_anyone_ ** _, is a bride worth paying for._

The cruel laughter of that evening echoed in her ears, no matter how long ago it had been. Jeanette had shut down and compartmentalized for nearly an entire week upon hearing it. She was to be sold on the bride market, and her stepmother, the woman who had taken her from her home with Lupa, the woman who had raised her, was to oversee the deal.

She was to be the next Duchess of house Simmons. If Octavian had his way, that is. She had inadvertently been given time to think it over, and she had made her decision. If this was how the game had shifted, then she would simply adjust her strategy. 

She let them knead flowery oils through hair as she leaned back in the baths. Her eyes darted upward to the ceiling. 

Octavian had not yet realized what he had done. Docile and obedient as she seemed, he hadn’t caged a songbird. He hadn’t trapped a delicate, defenseless creature in a gilded cage. No, he had chained a bird of prey to his side, without realizing what would happen the moment she broke free of those chains.

_We can make her behave herself, it’ll be easy. She isn’t headstrong or argumentative like Jackson, such a mouth as that girl’s got on her! She isn’t confrontational either. She’s a peacekeeper a lot of the time. She won’t trouble him, she won’t raise her voice at him. She knows when to keep quiet._

The maids tapped her shoulder gently and gestured for her to stand. She pulled on a plush white robe and wandered off into the corridor in search of her dressing room.

She had been assigned ‘lady’s quarters’ beside her husband’s room, a room all to herself, where she would have a bed to herself, without having to even see her husband’s face unless he expected her marital duty of her. It was insulting. She had them converted into a private sitting room, with a vanity and a dressing room she could enter through the archway.

This action had of course been misinterpreted as affection. They were sure she was taken with the man who’d bought her off the bride market. That she couldn’t bear to spend her nights away from him. It was quite the opposite. She’d much rather avoid the sight of his face as much as possible. She did it to preserve her dignity. 

She padded lightly into the room, eyes softening with fondness as she looked at the postcards and letters she’d received from honeymooning friends. She was laced into a silk gown of faintest blue, rolling her eyes at the wives' tale that had surely inspired the color.

_Married in blue, your love is true._

The irony was too cruel.

The gold around the neckline and the open shoulders framed the swell of her chest delicately, matching the thin choker that looped around her throat. Her soft gold veil was in keeping with tradition. A yellow or gold veil supposedly symbolized fertility and light in a marriage. Jeanette wasn’t entirely sure that people who believed her marriage would be prosperous should be allowed anywhere besides an insane asylum. 

A portrait of her was added to the hallway full of bridal paintings. Every heir of their lineage who had a wife had gotten her portrait added to the hall. Her name would be part of this family’s history forever. 

Jeanette’s eyes wandered from the painting to the mirror. She looked every bit the happy blushing bride. There was no explanation to give anyone of how she’d ended up this way. The artist bowed and took his leave of her. She was already respected among high circles, but her reputation wasn’t that of a pretty Heiress aspiring to be a wife and mother. Her reputation was that of a warrior. A veteran in their people’s battles, one of the seven. 

Yet here she was, eighteen years old, preparing to become a rich man’s wife, in nearly the exact same way her mother Beryl had taunted her. 

Octavian was a headache to be around, but at the very least, he wasn’t a sleaze, he didn’t seem the type to hold much power in any marriage, certainly not in one to Jupiter’s demigod daughter. He had quite simply been power-hungry, and made a power play, only to watch it fail. He had been ‘disgraced’ and had still risen again shamelessly soon afterward. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew what he did. It was no wonder then, that political marriage was his second choice. It was a relatively bloodless takeover. The only blood he’d have on his hands has hers.

_Politics,_ she scoffed, her temper beginning to rise. She was determined to use this situation to her advantage. Hadn’t she been raised by the Goddess of Marriage? She knew how to spin a marriage of convenience for her benefit. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes Juno had made. She wouldn’t allow herself to suffer under the thumb of a man unworthy of her respect.

The belt around her waist was knotted, and she was led out to the crowd of elites. The flowers braided into her hair may very well have wilted in the unwelcoming atmosphere of the room, but the tone immediately shifted the moments she stepped in. Royal blood was their family’s greatest victory as of late. 

A tight smile pulled her lips as she meandered through the crowd over to the altar dedicated to her father. She gently laid her bulla down, before walking up to the podium. 

She toyed nervously with the engagement ring that lay on her left ring finger, watching the light on the peacock sapphire shift it from blue to green in the warm midday sun.

It was an unconventional ceremony. Patrician though she may have been, there was no family to give her away. She had been brought into their home already. Her breathing relaxed as soon as she saw Farah waving her over. She strode into a hug, her arms tight around Farah’s shoulders. Lia tugged her into a hug as well, and one after another, the bridal party bid their goodbyes to Jeanette.

The reality of the situation began to set in, and she forcefully shoved panic away from the forefront of her mind, to keep her thoughts clear for the rest of the evening.

Their exchange was quiet. While she couldn’t say for certain that Octavian had suddenly become tolerable somehow, he appeared to have dulled down recently. The constant glint of danger in his eyes was gone, and the fire in him seemed to have been purposefully dimmed for her sake, which was odd. The beautiful paintings of the atrium kept her distracted throughout the ceremony. She couldn’t look her groom in the eye and stared instead at the ancient paintings that had been redone here nearly a century ago. The scenes of scholarly discussions and battles were gorgeously detailed even though the colors had dulled somewhat from the decades of wear and tears, as well as the generations of family that had lived here. Rather begrudgingly, Jeanette had to admit that her in-laws had excellent taste. 

Their eyes met as Jeanette rose to give her consent to the marriage. The expectant glances of her witnesses couldn’t have pressed her to say it as much as Octavian’s tentative looks did. 

_Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia._

The crowd seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. She had agreed. Jeanette tensed as she felt herself being picked up into a bridal carry. She let the tension drift from her shoulders as she realized Octavian hadn’t tried anything. He simply picked her up, entirely appropriately. His arms went under her shoulders and the bend of her knee. Stiffly, she held herself up by looping her arms around his shoulders and forced a pretty smile as the crowd threw rice and walnuts at them. 

She was gently let down in front of her father’s altar, before getting picked up again after they shared the slice of cake cut for them. She found herself at the dinner table moments later, having belatedly realized that Octavian’s strides were long, and paired with his loping gait, it made for a quick carry across the atrium to the dining room.

He smiled at her, and she cursed herself for being unable to tell if it was genuine or as forced as her own. But it was comforting in an odd way. Dinner was a quiet affair as far as weddings were concerned, she wasn’t in any state to be holding a conversation with her parents-in-law, and spent most of the meal whispering to her new husband about the dishes. She found his cousin, Anastasia, to be a welcome addition to any conversation, and that her soft, shy voice reminded her terribly of Nikita’s. At last, she bid her friends goodbye and goodnight and watched the guests leave for their estates. She was hoisted up gently once again, and her hands went around his neck with startling familiarity. 

_What am I doing?_

_Do I really think I can do this?_

_Do I really think I can make this work?_

There was no time left to consider those questions anymore. Jeanette had committed to this gamble, and she knew what she would have to do to win. Heir or no heir, Jeanette was going to _have_ to make it work. There were simply no other choices from where she stood. Failure was not an option now. It had never been.

The threshold was crossed quickly, and soon enough, they were at the door to their shared room. She watched him as he restlessly looked over the changes to the room. "You…you intend to sleep here with me?" he queried, his voice surprisingly rough compared to its softness at the banquet. Jeanette looked him in the eye defiantly. "Yes. Yes, I do." 

_I have more self-respect than to spend my life living the way tradition dictated that I would._

There was an odd sort of intensity to him as he undid the veil and pulled the flowers from her hair. His eyes tracked across her face curiously. He tugged her over to the plush chair in front of the vanity and undid the braided bun at the back of her head before running a brush through her hair. It shimmered in the soft moonlight that filtered through the window, appearing to be a starlit waterfall in the fading light. It occurred to her as the gold brush tugged loose strands of her hair, that her brother Apollo had surely ridden his chariot over the western horizon, and that Diana would’ve been racing over the sky at the moment. She was the Goddess of Virginity. She would bear witness to Jeanette losing hers.

Once the brush was put down, Jeanette brought his hands to the knot at her waist. "Only you can undo it." The heat in her gaze wasn’t entirely fabricated. She may not have particularly liked him, but she knew there was mutual respect in the room, and she was well aware of the fact that only an heir would guarantee her marriage wouldn’t fall apart. The knot came loose about a minute later, and the gown followed it swiftly. 


	2. He said, She said

Jeanette woke up much later in the morning than she’d intended to. The other side of the bed was still faintly warm, and the sheets were still wrinkled. Evidently, the maids hadn’t been let into the room (lest they disturb her sleep), and her new husband hadn’t awoken too long ago. She slumped back on her pillows, staring at her room in silence. The walls were painted crisp white, and she couldn’t find a single break in the contiguous geometrical border. She shifted slightly, turning to look at the wall behind her. It was veined marble, from top to bottom. The iridescent silver veins in the black marble made the entire wall shimmer in the early morning sun.

Her palm rested on the cool marble, following along one of the veins as she leaned over to pick up the clothes set aside for her. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes while she walked to the bath, while the only thing covering her was the robe she’d worn yesterday. The steam rose to greet her the moment she opened the heavy bolted door. Sighing, she sank into the warm water, feeling it release all the tension in her shoulders. The marble in the bath was light. Walls of pale gray and blue stone edging. It hadn’t taken long for her to clean up, and she slipped on a towel before walking up to the mirror.

Her own eyes looked back at her, startlingly stormy for so early in the day. Her line of vision dipped lower to the odd mark or two that had been left on her chest and neck. She toweled off her hair, feeling just how silky it had gotten. 

A quick stroll into her enormous walk in closet provided her a truly ludicrous slew of options, and it didn’t take long for her to hem and haw over them before settling on a blouse and a skirt that she could pull a robe over top of.

She meandered through the halls of the living quarters, before finally reaching the garden, where Octavian sat with breakfast on the table in front of him, despite the fact that his gaze was fixed somewhere even she couldn’t see.

Clearly, this "odd distance" between the two of them made for wonderful gossip material, and the familiar lull of the house help gossiping settled over them.

The whispers of maids in the grand stately homes of New Rome was so commonplace, it was hardly something to take note of, especially after a _newly married couple_ had been given the _west_ wing of the house. 

In this city, physicality tarred everyone with the same brush, whether they lived neatly maincured lives among the elite, or fought tooth and nail to rise in the system like the working class. Lust was just the gritty reality, and violence marked everything. There was absolutely nothing that Jeanette had seen in this city that would shock anyone. They had seen and heard it all. Even among the highest in society, whispers abounded among the children, and you were raised on the hush-hush sordid tales of brothers-in-law consummating marriages where the groom wasn’t up to the task. If the soreness that the warm bath couldn’t alleviate was any indication, it was certainly not the case in her marriage. Yet there remained one tale remaining that presented itself as a very real possibility.

The race to pump out a male heir post marriage was a familiar one, a race often started by husbands and finished by another man that his bride deemed worthy of fathering her offspring, like some fascinating relay race.

The knowledge of the body and all it was capable of was so casually woven into their everyday lives, that debauchery of most kinds would cease to shock the good people of New Rome.

Jeanette managed to ignore him almost completely for the entire meal, making quick work of the fruit in the wicker baskets. When she was halfway through the scones, her new husband finally thought to acknowledge her, if only to keep up appearances. There was a mutual understanding between them that they were both nothing if not fantastic liars. 

“Good morning, dearest.” came the pleasant greeting, and Jeanette leaned over to give him an emotionless peck on the cheek in response. The airy nature of the gardens would have made for amiable conversation and a walk with any other breakfast partner, but presently it seemed as if the two newlyweds were upset to even be in each other’s presence.

“Will you be visiting your friends today?” 

Jeanette looked up, eyebrow raised. “If you will allow it, husband of mine.” she managed. Octavian sighed, as if he had just been given the instruction to do particularly tedious work that he had no interest in doing. “Must you be so objectionable so early in the morning? If something troubles you, you can tell me.” There was yet another silent agreement in the air, that if last night hadn’t gone to her liking, now was the time to bring it up. 

“No, nothing, I just need a second to compose myself. I won’t be going to anyone’s houses, not when there’s so much to get done here at home.” With that she strutted off, giving the observing maids an impression only of abject acidity. 

The fact they barely tolerated each other wasn’t difficult to put aside for the sake of responsibility. The days blended together into weeks, the weeks turned into months. Appearances had to be kept up, with time, even that fake sweetness wore away at Jeanette. She felt like a trophy wife. Perhaps she _was_ a trophy wife. A pretty thing to kiss at charity galas and to come home to on a night when your mistresses are all busy. 

It was certainly a rough beginning to a marriage, and perhaps should have been indicative of the condition it would end up in eventually. But for months, it was simply a limbo of managing the household and occasionally blowing off stress by falling into bed together. 

Constant pounding pressure from all sides closed in on them. She needed any excuse to get away from this sham of a marriage, and a perfect oppurtunity presented itself. 

Jeanette had been feeling their barely-there connection stretch itself thinner and thinner with every passing day. Thick-skinned enough to ignore the tension it was putting on them, she’d carried on, but the wish to be cherished and desired never truly died down in her. Even _her_ emotional strength crumbled eventually, she felt unappreciated and ignored, pulled out completely from her life of thrill and battle and adventure.

But irrevocable proof presented itself to her. It was proof that could not, _would not,_ be ignored, no matter how desperately Jeanette wanted to. Day after day, a new young lady draped herself over Octavian at galas and balls and events. The only thing Jeanette could do was seethe in silence. The audacity of that man, stroking along some waifish little thing’s neck while calmly asking if she’d be a darling and refill his champagne. But to react would be to create a disaster for herself. She’d go from being the success story to the jilted wife. Despite trying to convince herself she had no reason to be upset, that she had no feelings towards him, she knew very well that it was a lie. No matter how irritating her forced alliance (if it could even be called that anymore) was, she had always held out hope that maybe, just maybe, by some miracle, he’d change his mind, mend his ways, do _something_ besides shatter every hope she’d ever had for a marriage.

However hurt she was, there would be no crying when people could notice, there would be nothing but pleasantness and politeness, and not a soul would suspect that there was anything amiss. Of course, as she should have expected, there came a day when she simply couldn’t tolerate it any longer. 

She fled to the comfort of her second home, her first home in the inner city, and on that fateful night, who should she meet but a childhood friend?

Jeanette opened _up,_ having finally found someone she hadn’t been isolated from by her cold, clinical new life. She was upset, she was hurt, and she was desperate, desperate to be wanted and adored once again. Rey had listened to everything. He’d been there for her all her life. He’d been there when she’d fallen apart over how far she had fallen, when she’d confessed the lows she’d come to.

It was of course, innocent to start with. It always was. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." some would say. 

A touch here, a hug there, when she really needed the comfort. Outings to see how much their childhood home had changed. Trips to the stables. Visits that finally allowed a chance for her to reconnect to the friends she’d been cut off from for so long. 

_Innocent, Innocent, Innocent_ … 

_~~GUILTY GUILTY GUILTY~~ _

It was so freeing, to not concern herself with this family, to not think of anyone but herself. It was ever so selfish, but selfishness did the poor girl nothing but good. It was not uncommon for the staff to see husband and wife both send lingering glances at each other before stalking off in two opposite directions. 

Getting close dug up old memories. Memories of younger times and memories of choices made what felt like a lifetime ago now.

Jeanette was still young, so very young, and it was easy enough then, to be flattered and charmed by the _innocent_ flirting of an old friend, who was only by mere _coincidence_ a rakish young bachelor. There was no denying it. It felt incredible. Incredible to be wanted and desired, to be _seen_ again, to finally feel attractive and not weighed down by happenstance and the cruelty of fate. 

It spun out of control from there, and Octavian had suddenly been given a taste of his own medicine. His wife had (unsurprisingly) returned to the closest person in her life, and she had simply set Octavian aside in the same way he’d been doing for months.

At the end of the day, if Jeanette spent her first anniversary in another man’s bed, who was anyone to say something about it? The best kept secret in the city made for a convincing coverup and satisfying revenge.

_Be wary of Jupiter’s children_

She was no child of Jupiter’s. He hadn’t raised her, his wife had. But now, standing in a lace negligeé on Rey’s bedroom balcony, Jeanette supposed that what went around came around, and the apple apparently didn’t fall that far from the tree.

If there was any wisdom this child of Juno’s could give you, it would be the simple advice of a young woman disillusioned to men, and that it _definitely_ wasn’t cheating if your husband did it first. The guilt may have lingered, but the shame was gone, and altogether it was a sweet secret, a whisper of delighted retience in a lover’s ear. Jeanette, in her own odd way, was happy, and that fragile happiness shattered the moment the second pink line innocently showed itself on her pregnancy test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I simultaneously listened to Lana del Rey and Taylor Swift while I wrote this chapter, and it was...an experience. Enjoy, and please leave a comment/kudos, it would mean the world to me.


	3. Tell me you love me

Jeanette had been constantly distracted lately during their get-togethers. Farah knew well enough what being a noble wife meant, she was one herself, but Jeanette didn’t seem to have much of an obligation to fulfill to her family at the moment. She was pregnant after all, she was gling to bear them an heir, and male or not, a female heir was still highly preferable to having no heir at all. Rachel had been throwing strange looks in her direction lately for bringing that up, but she’d since shrugged it off. Maybe the greeks weren’t like that? They certainly were in the ancient times, but Farah supposed that the same laid back nature she’d come to associate with them probably extended to their child-rearing as well.

Frowing down at her ledger, she filled in the last new order of silk before rising to go talk to Heinrey. _God, as much as I love him, big three families are headaches…_ Farah was hardly alone in her plight, lord alone knew just how much Andrew dreaded going to his in-laws, and at times he looked so utterly traumatised by the experience that Farah thanked her lucky stars that her worst relation was probably to Heinrey’s godly half-sister, Melinoe, and that her parents in-law were reasonably polite with her.

“Can I go visit Jeanette today, or do you still need any help?” she queried, peeking around the door playfully, getting a laugh in response. “I’m fine, go check on her, and tell her I said hello.” 

Jeanette still looked desolate and devasted when Farah came over, and even a steaming cup full of hot cocoa wouldn’t get her to confess what was going on that had upset her so. “Is something wrong? Did someone say or do something? Is it the baby?” Jeanette looked puzzled at the first two questions, but simply let out a heavy sigh on hearing the last one. Farah put an arm around Jeanette’s shoulder, her concern tumbling out of her. “You haven’t gotten a miscarriage risk assessment or anything have you? Even if you have, it’s not guaranteed to happen.” 

Jeanette pulled her aside, drawing an enchanted drape over the door once she shut it behind them. The room she’d been pulled into was quiet, but still beautiful and well decorated. There were paintings in the old style all over the walls, and the silvery chandelier on the ceiling shone a mother-of-pearl-like glow over them. She called Jeanette over to the seteé, holding her hands in her own. “Come to ‘fess, have you Jen?” 

Jeanette laughed at that, but it was a tired laugh, and it almost seemed as if the sound hadn’t left her mouth in a long time. “I…I do have something to confess. I think…I think the baby may be Rey’s, not Octavian’s.” Farah simply looked at her for a moment, slack-jawed and horrified. “What’ll you do now? Nobody can find out, you might even get put on trial for infidelity!” Burying her face in her hands, Jeanette let out a quiet sob, which only got louder when Farah’s arms looped around her shoulders comfortingly. 

Sniffling softly, she poured out her grief. Farah listened patiently, just grateful that Jeanette wasn’t bottling this up anymore. She had a tendency to compartmentalise when she was upset, and after nearly an hour went by, the story was through. Farah had to barely keep herself from wincing while Jeanette explained the state of her marriage. Finally, Jeanette seemed to set her shoulders and come to terms with herself. Looking Farah in the eyes, she stated with a sense of finality-

“We need to go visit my sister.”

The entire lengthy process of getting ready by the standards of etiquette lent a charm to the quiet evening. It was a common understanding among the maids that the ladies of the house were not to be disturbed today, and they were left to their own devices.

Drapes of silk went over petticoats of soft cotton, pleated and looped and pinned into place with glimmering brooches. A warm haze of light painted the two of them in dusky sunlight, and it made Farah’s hair shimmer ever-so-faintly gold. Quietly, Jeanette arranged for her maids to leave her alone in the kitchen while she packed away sirloin cuts to sacrifice once they reached the temple. Farah meanwhile picked fronds of wisteria and tied them with twine before putting them in her basket.

Emerging from the kitchen, weary and nervous, Jeanette ushered her off to the carriages set out for them. Any visit to Eileithyia’s shrine was something deeply personal, reserved only for the mother of the child and her closest friends or family. The city bustled even still as the day wound down to a close. Farah’s eyes tracked over the markets shifting from daytime hawkers to nighttime stalls for food and trinkets of all sorts. She remembered well running through here when she was a few years younger, pulling Jeanette with her while trying on all sorts of hairpins and bracelets in the half-dark.

The hooves of their horses clodded on faithfully on the half dirt, half stone road. Jeanette had long since collapsed onto Farah’s shoulder to sleep, and it made Farah worry. _The pregnancy must be hard on her since she’s already so tired,_ Farah wondered, pulling her friend’s hand into her own. 

Soon enough, the coachman called softly to them. “We’re here, ma’am.” Farah murmured a ‘thank you’ to the footman for helping her get Jeanette out of the carraige, and she gently shook her awake. 

The temple was stately and grand, which was to be expected. Every new child born was contributing to the backbone of their society, and as such, the Godess of Childbirth was much respected and loved.

The sheen of silvery light on the marble walls gave an aura of purity to this place, where sin was dragged time and time again. Most everyone in the scattered crowd moved aside for them, ladies of the nobility were of utmost priority to the state.

Scurrying ahead of all the others, a few young priestesses arranged for the temple attendants to clear the main sacrificial hall to afford them privacy.

As soon as the room was clear, they hurried in, leaving their chaperones behind in the main complex.

The heavy door swung shut, and Farah turned the bolt over the latch before turning to Jeanette.

She was already pulling the sacrfice out of the scented container, placing it on the podium before Farah rushed over. “You really shouldn’t be handling raw meat while you’re pregnant, Jen.” Jeanette chuckled softly.

“I grew up eating bloody kills in the prey pile, I think I’ll live, hon.” 

Farah smiled, passing her the heated lemon water to clean off her hands with after using soap. 

The neatly cut sacrifice lay on the slab, and gently they lowered it into the sacrificial fire. Farah had a quiet suspicion about her own heir-in-the-making, and appreciated the chance to get favor with the goddess.

The glittering flames rose overhead, and Jeanette murmured a quiet summons alongside her prayers.

Pulling back quickly, she threw her hand over Farah’s eyes after shutting her own.

“My lady.” 

“Sister!” 

Eileithyia looked between them, before her eyes widened once she looked at Jeanette. “Wha-What? Why would you-oh, never mind it, you’re in need of help.” Imploringly, Jeanette looked from her stomach to her sister, silently pleading with her for something. Finally, she seemed to give in, and Farah watched in silence as a faint glow emanted from Jeanette’s womb when Eileithyia’s palm hovered over Jeanette. “Did you..induce a miscarriage?” She asked. Jeanette shook her head wildly, before saying, “If I had the option I would have done it, but no, I just had Eileithyia do something for me…” 

“And you can very well explain yourself to your friend without me. I’m glad I could help you, but please, don’t force me to intervene like this again.” 

The goddess threw a glance at Jeanette to serve as a warning that she’d be leaving, and within seconds of them both closing their eyes, she was gone.

Farah sat with Jeanette as she outlined all the solutions she'd thought of, before finally coming to the obvious conclusion, to have Eileithyia change the baby’s appearance, so they would only resemble their mother and nobody else. Powers would obviously mirror hers, neither of the possible fathers had any sort of elemental ability, and there Jeanette had an advantage. 

_So you mean to tell me she’s planned this for weeks now? How far along_ _is_ _she?_

Swallowing her own confusion, Farah led her out of the inner sanctum, head held high over the stares of the small audience their presence had drawn. Normally such visits would involve most, if not all members of close family, but they’d clearly expected privacy today, and there was certainly no questioning them.

The horses hitched to the carriage pawed eagerly at seeing their mistress, leaning to nose and her stomach. Jeanette smiled, holding out her palms for them to nuzzle before getting into the carriage. 

Sighing, they both sank into their seats, settling in for another trip back. Jeanette insisted on having her coachmen deliver Farah home, and she wouldn’t hear of having her wait for her own carriage to pick her up. Before getting off, she pulled her best friend in for a hug, whispering about how unfortunate it was that most of the day was wasted, before pulling back to properly say goodbye. 

Waving, she toed into the house even as the hoofbeats on the ground got quieter and quieter.

She strolled through the foyer, mumbling an excuse to her sisters-in-law when they asked why she’d gone to Eileithyia’s temple without them, before laying an arm over her stomach protectively while going into her room.

She looked up in surprise at the feeling of an arm around her waist, looking to see her husband behind her. For once, he seemed happy to see her.

“I take it your visit went well?” 

Stiffly, Jeanette turned to face him. “Yes, my sister sends her regards and congratulations. Farah and I had a productive outing, in that sense.” Something seemed to pass over Octavian’s face, a shadow of an expression that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts, before gently putting an arm around her as he’d done before, and leading her back to their room.

A small part of Jeanette preened at the attention, while the louder, more cynical voice in her head hissed at her that he was only protecting an investment for the future, and nothing more.

She walked away from him once they were through the door to change into her nightgown, dropping the heavy layers of silk and petticoats to pull on a slip over her lightest petticoat. Then she tugged the sleeves of the gown over her arms, relishing in the softness of the cream fabric, tying the navy blue bow in the front tightly before settling onto her side of the bed to brush her hair.

“May I?” 

Octavian was holding a one of her hairbrushes in one hand, reaching for her hair with the other in a half-aborted movement.

_The shocks just keep on coming,_ she mused, relaxing at the satisfying feeling of having a brush run over her scalp after a full day of having it up in a tight Hebe-like knot.

“It’s gotten thicker, and it feels so soft.” came the voice behind her, and Jeanette smiled to herself in amusement. “It happens to quite a few pregant women. It’s getting harder and harder to put it up anymore, I think I might just wear it down in a braid from now on.” 

Once all the tangles and snags were out, he handed the brushes back to her, and she put them down on her vanity before tugging it into a loose braid. Tying off the end with a ribbon, she walked back to bed, lying down and tugging the covers up to her shoulders. 

“Read if you want to, you won’t disturb me. I’m tired, I’ll fall asleep either way.” 

Octavian seemed taken aback by that, sighing before turning off the lamp beside him and taking her hands in his own.

She shifted slightly at that, confused by the sudden attention. “Listen to me for a moment, please.” She tilted her head off to the side, peering at him curiously. 

Taking a deep breath, he started, and for nearly twenty minutes he slowly explained himself, explained his guilt over the women he’d been cavorting with, explained the distance he felt guilty for, and pleaded her to forgive it. 

“I know it must sound so stereotypical, but I think realising I was about to be a father made me pull back and look at what I was doing to myself more sharply. I could have very well ruined the mother of my child, and I simply couldn’t reconcile that with myself. I have fallen into the same pattern as my own father, and I resent myself for it. I beg of you, please, overlook it just this once. I’ve done something unforgivable to you, you who have done nothing but try and make the best of this situation. I didn’t care for a single one of them, but I realise now, that I care for you so much. So, so much.” 

Jeanette pulled back for a moment, and Octavian took the shadow that crossed her face as anger or upset, feeling the guilt gnawing at him once more. He had no idea that the shadow had been Jeanette’s own guilt eating away at her as well.

“I swear it to you now, I’ll honor you as I should have from the beginning. This mess was arranged but that doesn’t mean I can’t respect or appreciate you. I know that now, I didn’t know it then, so I went and threw away my chance. I only ask you to give me another.” 

Beseechingly, he looked at Jeanette, feeling her eyes boring into his face. Finally, she let out a weary sigh, falling back onto the bed, still holding onto his hands. 

“I made peace with it a long time ago. I just… I don’t know where we are. I know we should try, and I’m glad you want to, but there’s a line that’s been crossed that we can’t go back over again. I’m still ready to try however, if you are.” she said carefully, staring off at some vague point far away from her.

Pulling her close, Octavian tugged the covers over them, burying his face into the crook of her neck to murmur infinite apologies of increasingly ridiculous proportions.

_God, what have I done?_

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of making this story worth reading, Octavian is not unattractive, nor is he a whiny idiot. Just: a somewhat disliked character who has learnt from previous mistakes in the worst way possible. Again, feel free to sub in whichever cute blonde British guy you prefer, because for the purposes of this story, Octavian is at least a solid 7.5/10.


End file.
